


Small Gestures

by Siver



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Spoilers, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: An unexpected friendship, but they have a mutual understanding and it's the little things that help.Collecting small scenes originally posted on Tumblr between Cabanela and Pigeon Man in their year of working together.





	1. Chapter 1

**1**

The papers are spread in a sprawl across the table in front of Cabanela. He ignores them, leaning back in the chair, idly twirling a pencil. He knows them by heart, scoured through them all for every last unchanging detail.

It’s plans cycling through his mind. Seeking answers they don’t yet have. Fine tuning details. Make sure everything is right, nothing missed.

Five years seemed an unending stretch and now it’s come down to a few short weeks.

Twirl, twirl, snap.

He stares down at the broken pencil and it’s as though it breaking has snapped something in him. It falls from a suddenly slack grip.

The Professor comes up from the basement and freezes in the doorway. The Inspector is hunched, face buried in his hands. He thinks he detects a quiver in that coat, sees his shoulders heave, lock into place, lose that battle, and heave again.

He backs away silently. Let him have his moment, one that was a long time in coming, the professor suspects. He’s no counsellor and some things are best left alone.

When he comes back up, Cabanela is preparing to leave. The unflappable Inspector. The bright and shiny hero, yet the professor can see he’s not all there. His gaze is distant, already in the future ticking down a seemingly endless list.

He stops him leaving, fills a thermos with the remaining tea and thrusts it at him. It’s cold out. An exchange of looks.

_I know._

No words need to be spoken.

 

**2**

The professor is used to the quiet solitude of the maintenance office - used to it and welcomes it. So, it was with a certain surprise that he came to not mind the explosive disruptions that were Cabanela’s visits.

Usually.

Cabanela has a way of filling the room. Now he’s in a towering temper. He doesn’t yell, though he wouldn’t be surprised if that was coming, but his jaw is set and his eyes flash. Seething, fingers drum impatiently.  A day gone badly and his anger radiates to fill the room.

The professor is feeling ready to chew him out or at least shoo him out. Exchange of information can wait and the man can throw a fit in his own home. Seeming to sense both her professor’s irritation and Cabanela’s irate mood, Lovey-Dove flutters off to land by Cabanela’s hand with a soft coo.

Cabanela scowls and the professor is about to call him out – yell at him, fine; he has no issue with dealing with the ridiculous man, but leave Lovey-Dove out of it – when the scowl fades a bit and he reaches out with almost exaggerated care to pet Lovey’s head.

The little bird isn’t a cure-all, but the professor makes a mental note to figure out some way to thank her for her ability to diffuse white coated bombs.  

 

**3**

“Sooorry I’m late prof,” Cabenela announces as he enters the maintenance office and stops. The professor is asleep at his desk, head in his arms, glasses askew. It’s an unusual sight. Though Cabanela would never outright admit it, the professor is generally better at knowing and keeping to his limits than he is. Still, he’s not getting any younger and between his junkyard duties and avid research he’s working the equivalent of two jobs.

A few light steps carry Cabanela silently over to the table. Lovey-Dove is nestled nearby and lifts her head at Cabanela’s approach. He holds a finger to his lips: shh, no need to risk waking the man. He slips his hands around the glasses and carefully lifts them off the professor’s nose to set them aside.

He steps back thoughtfully. Desk sleeping is not the most comfortable, nooot that he has too much experience in that, of course. The office is always on the cool side; the small stove on the other end of the room doesn’t do a lot for the rest of the building. It’s been a long day – longer than it was meant to be – and he has nowhere else he has to go. He slides his scarf off and loosely wraps it around Lovey-Dove in a makeshift nest.

“Take caaare of that for me, will you my feathery friend?” he whispers. She cocks her head at him then with a little wiggle settles in more comfortably.

His coat, not needed here, is shrugged off and he gently drapes it over the professor’s shoulders.

Then he quietly returns to the other side of the room where he stokes the fire before tossing himself into the chair to settle in.

Only the crackling of the small fire fills the comfortable quiet of the office.

 

**4**

The coat hangs as a reminder and the all too familiar sight catches his eye at every visit.

He knows he is exhausted, but it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it might have done once upon a time. He is used to it. Fatigue is a regular companion along with the growing anxiety in his chest. He has learned to work with it. Caffeine helps though comes with a price. Sheer determination (or the stubbornness of a daft bull as the prof has so kindly put it) carries him through the bad times. Sleep comes as it comes, often unwanted, but just enough to recharge and start again.

The coat is a flag, a symbol.

It isn’t ideal he knows, certainly not wise, but the deadline looms ever present, overshadowing all else. His constant companions will never be enough to drive him away from his end goal. Only success is acceptable. The possibility of less isn’t granted even the barest of considerations.

He will see him wear that old coat again. The pair of detectives. Top of the top. Old friend.

There’s a soft coo and Lovey-Dove settles on his shoulder as a comforting weight. The professor follows close behind and stands beside him.

“There’s food,” he says with a short nod toward the table. Cabanela nods as well and pulls his gaze away from the coat to follow the professor to the table.

They settle with Lovey-Dove and a warm kettle between them. They are a family of three and they will get their fourth back; that is a certainty. For now, they share the meal and speak of other things.

 


	2. Small Gestures 5

The door bursts open as the professor is filing the junkyard paperwork and Cabanela whirls in.

“Heeey there prof! Sorry to burst in unannounced.”

“Yet here you are,” the professor waves him off, “in typical fashion I might add.”

“Can’t stay looong. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork pilin’ up. And a stakeout tonight, should be gooood. Got another lead, an important one.” He taps his nose. “Got a nooose for that, you know.”

The professor finally looks up at him with a frown.

“Just what we need,” Cabanela continues brightly, yet it somehow feels wrong. “It’s gotta be another piece of this puzzle! Still need that last piece - solid evidence. Never got it from him, but I told him I’d do it myself and that’s exaaactly what I’ll do. It’s been too long, five years too long. Have to finish this. Now.”

Outrageous, the professor is used to, but this rapid tumble of chatter is something else. Now that he’s watching Cabanela his eyes look overly bright and his breath has quickened. If he didn’t know better he’d suspect he was drunk but no, it’s something else; he’s getting the distinct impression of a man dancing on a narrow ledge that’s about to break out from under him at any moment.

“Yes, that’s what we’ve been working toward all year,” the professor says carefully and then wonders if Cabanela is even listening.

“He always was too stubborn, always got his way in the end. Not this tiiime. Not thiiis time. It’s all going to end.” Cabanela laughs, but it sounds brittle to the professor’s ears. “Reeeal soon.”

“Hmph so we hope. Yet, here you are giving me a play-by-play of your ever busy schedule. I assume you came for a reason? Did something happen?”

For a man claiming he can’t stay long he’s taking his time getting to the point. The professor only intended a prod to get him going. Instead Cabanela goes still and something seems to flicker in his expression.

“Did something? Diiid…” Cabanela trails off into silence and his careless smile falls away with a shuddering breath. His knuckles whiten, his mouth opens and closes soundlessly. All at once he folds up falling into a chair hard enough to roll it back. Now he looks blank and his hand goes into his coat, pulls out a folded paper and passes it wordlessly to the professor.

The professor unfolds it. He shoots Cabanela a piercing look. “He signed it?”

Cabanela’s mouth twists, a mask of a smile. “Signed. Official. Ooone,” he swallows hard, a deep breath is taken and he finishes in a near whisper, “…execution order. End of the month.”

Optimism isn’t his strong suit, yet it’s been hard not to have some of Cabanela’s obstinance rub off on him. “We’ll stop it.” Simple words but he doesn’t have much more to offer. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past year it’s that Cabanela is good at getting his way as well.

“Of course.” Cabanela waves a hand, but his earlier flippancy has given way to a slow tiredness. “Went to see the Justice Minister. He denied it before, smart man, but now he changes his tune? Something’s fishy. Got some of the boys keepin’ an eye on him.”

“And you’ve got that deal to look into,” the professor points out.

Cabanela nods and the professor is relieved to hear the determined edge creep back into his voice.

“That’s riiight and tonight we may just get our meeting place at last.”

That was good at least, but there went any chance of convincing the man to delegate. The shadows under his eyes seem too deep already and now… his glance flickers to the hanging coat, and now a sudden deadline and a friend’s life hanging in the balance.

“If you’re going to be out at all hours saving the day, you should get some rest now,” the professor says sternly.

Cabanela shakes his head and his hand grips his coat. “No can do, Prof. Liiike I said, things to do, places to be.”

Distractions to partake in no doubt.

“Some of which I’m sure can wait a day,” the professor says. “Running yourself into the ground isn’t going to do him any good.” Or Cabanela, but he knows that’s a useless path to try, now more than ever. If there’s another thing he’s learned it’s that loss and Cabanela don’t mix and now the prospect of losing hangs heavily. It’s a weight that’s only going to get heavier. He can only hope it won’t reach the final breaking point.

Cabanela rises in one fluid motion. “Some of which needs my attention now.”

Discussion ended. Fine. The professor isn’t about to waste time arguing, but there is one last point he can make.

“Hang on.” He also stands to frown up at Cabanela. He’s grown to learn Cabanela’s physical limits. That’s not difficult. No matter how hard one tries to hide it the body will show the signs and in this place Cabanela lets down some of his walls. It’s his mental well-being the professor is concerned for. He’s running on fury and sheer force of will that’s going to get worse before it gets better. So help them all if the man unwinds all at once.

“Come by as you need to. Keep me in the loop.” And where the professor can keep an eye on him, but Cabanela doesn’t need to know that particular point.

“When tiiime permits.” A small smile. The attempt is there. However, the professor sees straight through that smile to the distant eyes formulating plans, focused on one man alone.

The professor watches him leave and gives Lovey-Dove a pat. It’s going to be a long month that will pass too quickly.

Three weeks go by before the professor sees Cabanela again. Besides a low and hurried phone call informing him that they have a time – same night, “isn’t that conveeenient” – and – a barked out order to someone else briefly interrupts the call – a place for the Deal, he’s seen and heard nothing from Cabanela. He started to wonder if he would see him before the end, but he’s here now and the professor doesn’t need a calendar to tell him their time is running out. Cabanela’s haggard appearance is enough. All attempts at his usual gusto fall away as he drops into a chair like a discarded rag doll.

The professor pours him a cup of tea and sits by quietly to listen to the ramble that pours out: a passing grumbling over his other duties as Inspector, unwelcome distractions from the task at hand but a necessary evil, a confirmation of their plans for Point X, the place is well staked out. There is hesitation and a gulp of tea is taken. The professor continues to sit silently, waiting, let him get everything off his chest at his own pace in this bout of rare openness.

When Cabanela speaks again there’s an unusual tension in his voice. The execution time was moved up to 11:00pm. They’ll only have an hour. They’ll do it. His plans are thorough; the unit is prepared. He dances around the idea of failure, refuses to give it the privilege of acknowledgement. Of course they’ll win. The professor wonders which is stronger: determination or denial. He also wonders when his own logic and practicality fell to Cabanela’s ways. He can’t help but believe that despite the small window of time Cabanela will still pull it all off.

Cabanela leans back in his seat, closes his eyes and folds his hands around his tea. “Almost there,” he says softly.  An even softer laugh trickles out. “He has a looot of catch up to look forward to. And not the kind he likes either.”

The professor pauses, lets the words rearrange themselves then sighs. Cabanela must be tired if he’s stooping to that level of humour and if it’s any kind of sign of things to come they’ll owe him when all is said and done for putting up with the pair.

He notices Cabanela’s fingers go slack around his cup. “Hey.”

Eyes flash open and Cabanela straightens from his seeming attempt to sink right into the chair.

“I’ll give you a lift home,” the professor says. If anyone was in need of a solid eight hours it’s the stubborn fool in front of him.

“No need, prof. I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“Hmph. I can see the headline now. Traffic accident. Special Investigation Unit’s very own Inspector crashes bicycle into telephone pole. Let this be a lesson to all those too daft to get their heads down for a few hours.”

Cabanela scowls, but drains the last of his tea. “Fine, fiiine.  

Their drive passes in silence and one sideways glance vindicates the professor as he sees Cabanela nearly nodding off. However, he does snap back to the land of the awake when they park in front of his place.

The professor is granted a small nod of acknowledgement before Cabanela exits the truck.

“Hey,” the professor says gruffly before Cabanela can close the door. “Be careful out there, you old crazy character.”

Cabanela flashes him a small smile. “Of couuurse.” Before he spins away and leaves for his door.

Their task is nearly complete.


End file.
